Malfoy Manner: Keep the Change
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: Draco doesn't like change...or does he? It's Malfoy Manner, so there's incest, of course. Just a fun oneshot to tide me over until the next big idea.


Malfoy Manner: Keep the Change

Draco Malfoy didn't like change.

He'd never thought about it, really; never considered himself an intransigent personality. If anything, he had become an indelible compromiser, often called upon in the Board of Governors to settle some dispute or another between members. He rarely argued with his mother, anymore, as they'd found a routine to their life mutually beneficial.

He liked coming home from the Ministry's parade of arses to her delicious cooking, welcoming arms, beatific smile and genial conversation. Also he certainly couldn't complain about her overactive sex drive or her budding willingness to explore their intimate (if taboo) relationship to its fullest.

He was simply...content.

So happy, in fact, that at first he didn't notice the subtle changes taking place around him. The new window hangings. The embossed wallpaper in the library. The new French doors on the patio. The re-upholstered dining chairs. These things were daily glances easily missed or dismissed. As long as she was happy…

But perhaps he was a bit of a Luddite, after all. It was first blatantly evident in his reaction to the new settee. He'd come to the drawing room after dinner, hoping for a snog on his favourite chaise, to find said favourite chaise - gone.

It was a strange sensation, standing in the doorway just staring. Staring at the place where his favourite chaise used to be. In fact, it was such a strange sensation, he had to check it to be certain. So he backed into the hallway, blinked to re-set his vision, then tried again.

Yes. The chaise was gone.

"Good evening, darling." Her smile was as beatific as ever - and promising in its slightly flirtatious curve, but she lounged on something that was decidedly _not_ his favourite chaise.

His eyes scanned the room, seeing the chair nowhere. "Mum."

"Hmmmmm?" She stretched on the new settee, rubbing a bare foot up a bare calf. More than promising. Down right _inviting_.

But he was still distracted. "Mum. Where's my chaise?"

Elegant fingers spider-climbed the back of the lush velvet couchlet. She licked her lips. "I disposed of it. Drab old thing." Her other fingers stroked the carved-claw leg of...the new thing. "Don't you like this one?"

His face screwed up in such a way that made him glad he couldn't see it. He knew that he _should_ like the new settee. It was a handsome piece of furniture. Blood red. Thick velvet. Rich cherry wood. And he knew he should certainly like the witch lounging upon it in a state of rare abandon. But somehow...he _couldn't._

"Do you mean it's gone?" He asked. "For good?"

She sat up. Stretched arms to him. "That is exactly what I mean." He stepped into her embrace haltingly, still working through perplexion as she unbuttoned his trousers. "I let Mint have it. Whom I dismissed early, by the way."

"Mint?!" His high pitch was attributed to disbelief as much as to her mouth beginning to fervently work his hardening cock.

"Mmmmmhmmmmm." She moaned in assent and Draco's knees buckled.

So he knelt on the new thing. The settee. It's cushion was wide enough to allow her to blow him effectively as he braced himself against its back. "Oh." Well, that was quite good, he supposed. His fingers tightened on the lush upholstery and in her lengthy curls.

He could obviously get over the loss of the chaise.

The new settee would do just fine...once they broke it in.

The next morning he rose reluctantly from sticky witch embrace and meandered yawning and scratching into his shower. A wand tap set sprayers to full blast and he reached for the soap. He was setting a good lather when he realised -

_This isn't my soap! _

Again, he was glad he couldn't see his face. Yes, this soap was in his soap basket, but clearly it was an encroacher. Far from the sandalwood and bergamot of his everyday was this...mint and rosemary(?) concoction. "Ugh!"

He rushed through his washing, determined to ask the witch about this new newness. She was sitting up in their bed when he emerged - hair dripping - holding the soap between fingers as though it might bite. "What's this?"

"Hm?" She was glorious in the morning light. Long curls hiding bare breasts and sleepy eyes half-mast. Pink lips still bitten from the night before.

But he could not be distracted. Not this time. "This. Is this new soap?"

"Oh, yes!" She smiled, propped on an elbow in the pillows. "Do you like it? I thought it was very fresh and invigorating."

"In-invigorating," he stammered. "But my old soap -"

"Smelled like an old man," Narcissa interjected. Her nose wrinkled adorably. "I gave it to Mint."

"Mint?!"

"Mmhm." She gestured him to her with a coy finger. "And rosemary." When he was close enough, she pressed her nose to his chest. "Very nice on you, darling." Her lips climbed to his.

"But -" A kiss cut him off. His towel fell to the floor and she tumbled him back into sheets with a deep chuckle.

She liked the soap. So perhaps he could come to like it, too.

But not _this. _

"No." He stepped into his study shaking his head. "No, no, no, no. Absolutely not!" He rubbed his forehead. "What has she done?"

That was _not_ his desk.

His desk had been his father's desk. The ages old oak affair with the sticky drawers and charmed secret compartment and squeaky torturous chair - a monolith of a thing. Solid. Sturdy. And shrouded in darkness as is appropriate for the place where one works.

But _this. _"No." He said again.

This was a new desk. A very _different_ desk. Polished black wood. Sleek. It was long and curved elegantly around a plush chair on decidedly non-squeaky casters. And it had the audacity to curve into the sun - directly before ceiling high windows hung with (also new) gauzy grey curtains.

He approached the thing in disbelief. Face again pleasantly secret from himself. He tugged at a drawer. It slid open, obviously bade by magic. The chair swirled toward him as if to say, "Good morning, master. Do sit."

So he sat. "No, no, no." This chair with its thickly cushioned back and body would never do. It was too...comfortable. His back wasn't accustomed to not screaming pain within minutes of beginning work. "No." His hands slapped the padded arms. His elbows wouldn't make the cracking sound they normally made here. "No."

He looked around. "And where are all my files?"

The desk answered. A drawer just by his knees slid open soundlessly and neatly rolled parchments were pushed into his reach.

"No." This would never do. "Mother!" He called.

She appeared in the study's door as if she'd been waiting. Perhaps the desk had produced her, too. "Yes, darling?"

"What is this?" He spread his arms wide over the obnoxious furnishing.

"Isn't it incredible?" She asked. The grin she wore was gorgeous. Victorious. "It's the newest model from the Wizarding Professional Collection." She slid a hand across the desk's slick surface. "It's ebony. Hand-carved and polished. Probably by...little starving muggle children somewhere. But all the trimmings are goblin silver!"

She perched upon the edge of the thing. Looked down at him. Hair spilled over one shoulder. "Do you like it?"

He was speechless. "What - what happened to the old desk?"

She shrugged. "I let Mint have it. For firewood."

Draco sighed deeply. Rubbed his eyes. His head ached a bit. Probably from all the sun at his back. "Mum…"

"You look very handsome behind it," she murmured.

When he looked up, she was unbuttoning her blouse. "What are you -"

"Let's try it out." She swung her legs over the surface, hiking skirt.

"Oh!" Her legs fit perfectly hooked over the padded chair's arms, and Draco fit perfectly between her legs. "Hell, Narcissa." He kissed her. Slid inside her. They moaned happily. In the high polish of the desk's surface, Draco saw their reflection. _Rather nice, that._ He set the witch on it and fucked her properly.

It was a very sturdy desk. And Narcissa was very pretty in the sunlight.

Dinner brought him further challenge.

"Are these new plates?" He thumbed a gilded china edge.

"Oh, yes. Do you like them?"

He shrugged. "I suppose if you like them…" They were a bit...much, in his opinion.

"I was tired of the old ones."

"Huh." His stomach rumbled hungry. "Gave those to Mint?"

"Did I tell you that, already?" She asked. Snapped her serviette across her lap.

He rolled his eyes. "Lucky guess. New candelabras, too?"

"Yes! From Italy."

His brow cocked at the new fixtures. "They're...interesting."

"Made from dragon's bone." She stroked the spindle of one candelabra almost lovingly. Draco swallowed. "I think they're breathtaking."

"So long as you're happy," he said meekly.

"Oh, Mint!" With a pop, their dinner was served. The elf set heavy trays upon the table. "Thank you," Narcissa cooed gracefully.

Mint bowed ingratiatingly. Draco narrowed his eyes at the creature. It narrowed eyes back, but was not dissuaded from addressing Narcissa politely. "Mistress. It is Mint who is to thank you for new candelabras."

"I hope you enjoy them, Mint." She purred. Draco gaped. "Do enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Yes, Mistress." The insolent little piss stain popped away.

"Mother." But whatever he was going to say was forgotten when she lifted the silver service lid. "What the hell is _that_?"

"Kalua Pork, Maui Ahi Poke, Polynesian vegetable kebobs and Hawaiian rice." She reached for his plate and began serving for him.

"Mum."

"Yes, darling?"

"Was there a luau you didn't tell me about?"

She shrugged, smiled. "Just thought we would try something different."

"There's pineapple in the rice."

"Yes." She set his plate before him.

He poked at things with his fork. "Is this fish raw?"

"Yes."

He sighed heavily. Had a feeling he would be retiring hungry this evening.

And he was hungry. Just a little. The pork had been alright, he supposed, but he'd barely tried anything else. Raw fish and weird veg. He shook his head. Perhaps it was some phase she was going through.

"Ahem."

He looked up at the delicate cough. "Gods, mum."

She sauntered toward the bed from the lavatory, clearly pleased with herself, and gave a little turn. "Do you like it?"

"Er…" He couldn't control the spreading grin. "I do like it. What little there is of it," he replied. "Come here." She was grinning too when she climbed atop him. "Wanted to try something different here, too, mum?"

"Yes." She straddled him.

"It's um...pink." He said, rubbing her hips. Cupping her breasts. "Bright pink."

She nodded. Moaned when his fingers rough-housed her nipples through the vibrant lace. She thrust against his impressive erection. "You must like it quite a bit."

Through cotton pyjama pants, Draco felt...wetness. He looked down, shock spreading. "Mum. Are those crotchless knickers?"

She ground a little harder, biting her lip. "Mmhm. Thought it would save us some time."

Well, that was practical. "You're bloody brilliant," he replied. The moonlight caressed her, highlighting her pale shoulders and the...bright pink...bralette. Truthfully he loved the feel of lace, and yes, he was quite incensed by the thought of fucking her through the sheer material. He worked at his pants. She helped, and when he was free, she leaned back. Teasing him.

"Ride me, witch," he growled. Reached for her.

She snickered. "You'll wait." Her hands traveled over her own form and Draco watched, mesmerised. He could see her fingers dipping into her wet, tight folds, occasional knuckle appearing through the slit in her knickers. Her already pink nipples were deepened in hue by her racy lingerie, and she pinched them for his further viewing pleasure.

"Merlin, you're sexy, mum." He thrust against her. "Come on and let me fuck the tight little cunt in those pink knickers."

She smiled slowly and he knew he had her. She loved a bit of dirty talk. Her hands slid up into her hair - piled messily atop her head - and he heard the click of a barrette. Then -

All activity froze.

"Mother."

"What?" She blinked down at him, fringe framing her suddenly confused face, wondering why he'd gone so still.

Draco reached up. Touched the choppy locks. "Where's…" He blinked. The stars witnessed a strange sadness on his features. "Where's your hair?"

"Oh." She reached up, too, removed his hand from her head and replaced it with her own. She rustled the mass. "I cut it. Layers. Sheila came over earlier to do my manicure and we started talking and I just thought…"

"Thought to cut all your hair off," he finished.

"It isn't so short," she defended quietly. "Only nine inches gone."

"Nine inches!" Draco huffed. "That's a lot, mum!" He thought a moment. "Isn't it?"

"You hate it." She made to climb off of him.

"Stop." He grabbed her, stilled her. Studied her. It wasn't dreadfully short. Brushed her shoulders. There was a fringe now, barely stroking her brows. The curl was freed, floated about her head like a dark and light halo. It was a mad mass. And now that he was looking at it properly…

"It's dead sexy," he said.

She brightened. "Are you lying?"

He shook his head. Reached again into the haze of brunette. "I love it." He flipped her beneath him. "I love you."

She wiggled impatiently and he made his way over pink lace. There wasn't much of it. He suckled at her nipples through the rough fabric, allowed it to scrape. She responded with wanton. "Oh, Draco…"

He rubbed his face against the pink veil on her mons. It felt fantastically scratchy. Licked and bit there, too. Let his hot saliva cool on her skin. Dipped his tongue (finally) through knicker slit and into witch slit. She bucked against his face. "Darling!"

He felt toes curl against his back, urged her legs further apart. The look of the pink darkening with her juices in the silver light was intoxicating. And he could see her swollen clit beckoning his lips. He answered the call, chased the nubbin with tongue and tooth scrape.

Her fingers curled in his hair. "Give me your fingers, Draco. Please!" He did. Slicked them into her tightness and twisted them, wriggled them until she was frothing. "Fuck, baby. I'm going to come. More!"

He sucked her clit hard, now. Licked rough with long strokes. He looked up, watched her new hair toss with her writhings. She hissed, and he could feel her muscles milking his fingers. He let her quiver through the last of her moans before making his way back up for a kiss. "Nice," he whispered.

"Indeed." She was breathless. Her hair fanned out in waves against pillow.

"Ride me," he said. "I want to see what my cock looks like in pink knickers."

She laughed as they shifted, smiled down at him when he slid inside her. "Oh, goooood." She bent over him, hair falling around his face and shoulders, and kissed him soundly.

Draco found he got a better grip in her locks this way. Found he liked the tickle of the curly ends against his chest and shoulders. Liked the look of it when she cast her head from side to side. Liked the way it moved when her own fingers mussed it.

He held her hips tightly, urged her to bounce faster. His bollocks swelled and he slapped her arse to signify his approaching end. He watched the slick and shining folds of pink wrap his cock - two different pinks - and nipped at her sensitive nipples when they were in reach.

Buried in her, her hair and a thin layer of pink, Draco came. Hard. He roared in her ear and clutched her to him desperately.

There were a few minutes of heavy breathing before they really managed to calm. Draco rolled to his side to regard his satisfied matron. "I like the new knickers," he told her solemnly.

"And my hair?"

"And your hair."

She smiled deeply, genuinely. "I'm glad."

"But you don't have to change, you know." He stroked her face. "I love you even without layers and crotchless lingerie, Narcissa."

Her forehead creased. "I worried you were getting bored."

"Never." He kissed her again. "Never. But I appreciate the sentiment." And in truth, he appreciated the new desk. The new soap. The new settee. The dragon bone candelabras. The fact she was willing to _try_ for him. To change _for him_.

Still. He could have lived without the Hawaiian dinner.

They rested quietly for a moment, sleep descending on their sticky forms. But a thought hit, and wouldn't quit. "Mother?"

"Hm?" She snuggled against him.

"You didn't give Mint your old knickers, did you?"

In the dim light, Narcissa's eyes popped open wide.

**AN:** I've been hankering to write a Malfoy Manner piece for a while, but couldn't seem to find the inspiration. Thanks to Narcissa's Dragon for the germ of an idea for this one.


End file.
